Together Again
by ISuckAtUsernames
Summary: One huge explosion, seven survivors, four misunderstandings. The flock have been split up after a misstep on their mission to destroy Itex and the School. Ten years later and it's time for them to meet back up. But how will their reunion come about? Will it come about at all? Fax, Niggy. This is a rewrite. Reviews are appreciated.
1. NICK, REX & BECK

**1: NICK, REX & BECK**

**6.14 p.m., Monday**

**September 6th, 2012**

The house was tiny and always smelt of petrol, though the source of the odor could only be guessed at. Three bedrooms, two beds per room, one tiny bathroom that was forever encrusted with mould. And of course the kitchen that was only ever used to heat up old take-away foods or whip up some Mac'n'Cheese. The rent was sky-high for such a rundown, dilapidated old place—the expensive price was only so due to it being close to everything, like schools and the mall and the city; which was stupid because the house's occupants rarely ever went to any of those places. But thanks to the six people squashed into the one tiny place, the inhabitants managed to even the rent out so everyone only had to pay a seventy bucks or so a week.

Only three of the house's occupants were there on the mild Saturday night. The others were out partying, getting laid, getting wasted or—more likely than the previous options—were already sprawled in a gutter somewhere, crudely drawn phalluses on their faces and a half empty beer bottles at their side.

Of the three occupants left, there was the good-natured stocky blonde man, grey eyes circled with laugh-lines and ginger-y scruff smattered across his chin. There was the tall, lean, dark-haired man, his own five o'clock shadow adorning his chin and cheeks. Not much more could be commented on this man's appearance; his expression was closed-off and he sat still, allowing for no body language to be seen nor interpreted.

Lastly there was the scrawny brown-haired, blue-gazed teenager with eyes too knowledgable for his age and shirt too big for his frame. His name was Ty but he went by Rex. Rex wasn't in the lounge room with the two older men, though he _was _close; his face was pressed up against a door as he strained to listen in on their conversation. Well, it was more of a monologue. The cheerful, imploring voice of Beck was the only voice that could be heard. Nick sat, slipping into one of his silent modes.

"Nick, man," the easy-going blonde was saying around a mouthful of burger, "seriously. This is a really cool opportunity. And excuse me for sounding like those crappy motivational speakers that come visit you in your senior year, but you can't let a chance like this pass you by! Seriously. Take it with both hands, dude, before it's too late."

The dark-haired man, Nick, gave no answer. He just took a huge bite out of his own Big Mac and chewed thoughtfully, regarding his friend—his only friend, aside from Rex—over the top of his grease-saturated burger.

"Don't go silent on me, Nick," groaned Beck after a few moments' quiet. For the dramatics, and because he didn't like appearing anything but light-hearted, he added, "_Again_." Beck was used to his friend's quiet contemplation. It had lessened over the later years, this silence, though sometimes he, Nick, would fall back into his wordlessness for reasons no-one but himself knew. Beck had to admit, not knowing what was going on in his friend's mind was a tad scary.

If he didn't know Nick better (which he certainly did), he'd vote him most likely to become a serial killer—which was saying something considering the house they lived in and the people they split the rent with, all of whom were heavily tattooed, pierced, ran in dangerous circles and were known to bring back drugs far stronger than the occasional bong. There was no doubt where _their _rent money came from.

"Look at this," said Beck to prove his point, brandishing a piece of paper under his friend's nose. It was heavily creased and formal-looking. "_Look at it_!" he repeated, voice muffled. One hand clasped his Double Cheeseburger like it was made of gold, the other held the paper being waved under Nick's nose.

"OK OK, I'm looking, I'm looking," Nick said wryly, batting his pal's waving hands away. "I've already read it, Beck. I nearly have it memorized. _To Mr Nick Walker, we are happy to inform you that you have been offered a position teaching Physical Education, Computer Studies, and English at North S—_," he began rattling off, speaking more in one burst than he had since he'd plucked the letter from the letterbox.

Beck shoved his burger in his mouth, freeing his hands to throw a cushion at his friend, chuckling all the while. "Alright, _I_ get it. You've read the letter. Memorized it, even." Beck raised his eyebrows expectantly. "_So_…?"

"So what?"

Beck cleared his throat, shook the paper for emphasis, and began reading in a stately voice. "_You would be pleased to know that this position comes with a temporary apartment situated ideally—_blah blah blah. The rest doesn't matter. But that does! Did you hear that, Nicky-boy? An apartment. Shall I repeat? _An apartment_! Free!"

"Yes, Beck, I read that." Unbeknownst to anyone but himself, Nick was truly amazed at his luck. He'd applied for the position at the school months ago. He'd gotten home after a long day of teaching spoilt, illiterate brats and, completely fed up with the school he was currently working at, applied for every free position in the state. And then he had seen the advertisement for the job in Texas and, thinking _What the heck, like I'll even be accepted anyway_, he'd sent his details down. There was no doubt—he'd take the position, but right now Nick just needed time to process everything, to think about the logistics of the move.

"_A whole, free apartment_," repeated Beck amazedly, snapping Nick from his reverie. "An apartment that isn't filled with crack-heads and drug dealers and what appears to be your everyday, garden variety prostitute! I mean, yeah, it's only a _temporary _apartment until you get on your feet, but still, _your own apartment_."

"Hey," Nick said defensively, "I like Tamara."

Beck snorted and said darkly, "According to her bra, her name is actually Jezebel."

Nick smirked, glad to be off-topic and also slightly interested. "How'd you get ahold of her bra?"

Beck shrugged. "It was left on the couch, God only knows why." The two sat in contemplative silence, probably wondering whether or not their only half-decent roomie was a street-walker. Beck's eyes snapped to Nick's face and he waggled a finger disapprovingly at his friend's face. "I see what you're doing here."

"Really," Nick said. To anyone else, he'd look like a complete jerk. Most people wouldn't be able to understand nor tolerate Nick's rather biting attitude and non-existent manners. But Beck _knew _Nick, and he found it rather endearing in a brotherly way. "Please enlighten me, what exactly is it that I'm doing?"

"Steering me off topic!" Beck said triumphantly. "Now. _Take the job_."

Rex, who had long since settled on the floor in the hallway to listen in on the older mens' conversation, decided it was time to give Nick a push in the right direction—the right direction being Texas and his new job that would, in time, lead him to something far better than a pay-rise and new apartment.

Dusting off his baggy jeans, Rex stood and stepped into the lounge room just as Beck was saying, "Seriously, this position is exactly your style! Look at the subjects they're offering for you to teach! And the pay—holy cow—thirty bucks an hour! That's nearly ten more dollars than what you get at that snotty private school—"

"What's going on?" asked Ty innocently. "Job? Nick, what's Beck on about?"

Beck grinned. "Hey, Rex." It was Beck who had come up with the nickname 'Rex'. When he'd first met fifteen year old Nick and a then-four-year-old Ty, he'd seen Ty's only toy, a plastic T-Rex (that he was still in possession of), and upon learning the boy's name he couldn't help but dub him Ty-rannosaurus Rex, which was soon shortened to Rex. It wasn't very funny, but Beck, a twenty-year-old high school drop out with a serious affinity for marijuana, had decided that it was hilarious. Even as his sobriety increased and his substance abuse lessened, he still found the nickname witty and giggle-worthy.

"Hey, Beck," Rex returned, grinning back and plucking a luke-warm fry from the bag containing Nick's food. "Care to tell me what's going on?"

Nick groaned and batted him away. "There's some for you in the microwave." Rex was gone in a flash and returned just as quick, holding his McDonald's paper bag like a newborn baby.

"So," Rex began, sitting down cross-legged and fishing his own Big Mac from the bag. "What's going on?"

"Now you'll start trying to bully me into it as well," Nick muttered, wiping his greasy hands on his dark jeans.

"Bullying you into what?"

"Moving to Texas into an apartment provided by Nick's soon-to-be employer who has also raised his hourly pay up by ten whole dollars."

"Woah," said Rex, looking from Beck to Nick in feigned surprise. "That's, um, that's a lot to take in. Woah."

"Yeah," Beck agreed delightedly, "_Woah_." Simultaneously, the two turned to stare at Nick. He had been looking at his feet contemplatively, but glanced up upon feeling his friends' gazes burning holes in his skull.

"Nick, that's awesome!" Rex crowed enthusiastically. "We're gonna take it, right?"

"Of course," Nick answered with a half-smile.

Beck looked somewhat surprised—he'd bugged his friend for almost an hour nonstop and there'd only been stoic silence and a few wisecracks. He didn't mind, though. To him, Nick was like a younger brother, maybe even a son. All Beck wanted was Nick to do well. And if it meant that he had to move interstate and leave Beck behind, well, so be it. He'd be happy for his friend no matter what.

"It'd be nice to get you out of this hole, eh?" Nick said, reaching over to ruffle Rex's hair. "Go to a good school?"

"Ugh, yes please," mumbled Rex.

Nick smiled. "I'll go call the place I'm supposed to be teaching in. I need to make sure you can be enrolled as well."

He stood up and left the room.

"It's a lot to take in," Beck commented. "You guys'll be leaving soon…"

"Yeah. Wow."

When Beck wasn't looking, Rex grinned triumphantly. It was all going as planned.

* * *

**A/N: **And there you have it. This whole re-write it actually about three chapters away from being finished. Thirteen and a half chapters have already been re-written. I'll upload the next one after I get ten reviews.

I hope you like it! :~)


	2. MAXIE & BRETT

**2: MAXIE & BRETT**

**8:20 p.m., Tuesday**

**September 7th, 2012**

"I'm leaving," the young woman said out of nowhere. She immediately regretted the abrupt wording, the harshness of her tone.

"I'm sorry?"

Maxie didn't have the guts to turn and look at Brett. She loved him, she really did, but not as much as he loved her. And that wasn't healthy, not for either of them. She wanted to make him happy—he deserved it—but she _couldn't_. To make him happy, she'd first have to share every detail of her past with him. But every time she so much as thought of telling him what had happened way back when, her mouth clamped shut, she started sweating and couldn't breathe properly. Actually, that happened every time she so much as thought of her life before she turned fifteen. Brett, the sweet, caring thing that he was, implored her to get help. See a shrink, ask the doctors for anti-anxiety tablets—anything. But she wouldn't. She _couldn't_.

"Brett, I'm so sorry. I just can't anymore." Maxie closed her eyes and tilted her head up into the wind, the air tickling her over-heated cheeks. Salt encrusted her eyelashes and made her skin feel sticky. One of Brett's friends from high school had invited the pair to a party on his father's yacht, _The Queen's Knickers_—they had moved from London eight years previously—and Maxie, the fool, had marred a perfect night by going and doing _this_.

"It's the other one, isn't it?" Brett asked, his voice heavy.

Maxie turned to look at him so fast she nearly got whiplash. As it was, her grip on the boat's railing slipped off the sea-spray slick metal as she started in shock. "I—what do you—'_other one_'? You think I'm…cheating on you?" She tried to peer into his face, tried to get a glimpse of those affable laugh-lines and bright eyes, but Brett looked away. _Selfish_, Maxie scolded herself. Why should she seek comfort in familiarity when _Brett _was the one getting dumped?

"No, of course not."

"Then…what on earth do you mean, '_other one_'?"

"Maxie, it's pretty damn obvious that I'm the one who cares more about this relationship. I knew that this day was going to come sooner or later because there is, quite obviously, some lucky son of a bitch in your past that you're still in love with. That you love more than me. I just hope like hell he isn't an asshole."

"I _do_ love you, too," was the only thing Maxie could say to that, her voice small; she wasn't used to Brett, sweet-tempered and mild-mannered man that he was, cursing. She also wasn't used to her emotions being so easily read.

"But you're not _in love _with me." Brett turned to her and, seeing the frown of confusion creasing her forehead, explained heavily: "You love your sisters and brothers and parents—" Maxie did her damnedest not to flinch; _what _sisters and brothers; _what _parents? "—and you're _in love _with the person you're going to spend the rest of your life with. The person you never want to lose. You're that person for me, but I'm not it for you."

Maxie sighed dejectedly and sniffled. She put her teary eyes and runny nose down to the cool sea air blowing in her face and messing with her sinuses (even though salty air was supposed to help _clear _blocked noses). "I'm so sorry. You deserve bet—"

"Don't say that. _Don't _say that I deserve better. There _is _no-one better for me. You were always the one, which sounds so cheesy, but it's true." As if to dampen the mood even more, slow, fat raindrops started to fall, faster and faster.

Maxie moved closer to Brett and pressed her palm to his cheek, turning his head towards her. They kissed slowly, and Maxie was glad of the rain. Her tears—which were formed from guilt and anger at herself, not the pain of a break-up like they should be, making her feel even worse—were mixed in with the rain. It wasn't until she tasted salt that she realized she wasn't the only one crying.

Brett slid his hands up her waist, tracing her spine, and whispered, "_Max_…"

Maxie pulled away immediately, wiping her face and the mascara no doubt staining her cheeks.

Brett closed his eyes; maybe in irritation, maybe in something else. "That's another thing. I can't _touch _you—on your back, your shoulders…I can't even call you 'Max'…_why_? You owe me that, at least."

Maxie…Max…closed her eyes. She _did _owe it to him. She owed him an explanation and so much more. But the two things he asked her to tell him, she _couldn't_. Well, she could…but it was painful and selfish.

"I, I can't—," Maxie started, but was cut off by a terrified scream. The pair of them turned towards the water in shock, and about fifty feet out was a vague, pale figure bobbing in the waves. A thin arm threw itself into the air frantically as the woman screamed again, before being cut off by a wave. The air whipped around them and the rain came down heavier and heavier.

"Oh my God," said Brett. He tugged his shirt over his head and kicked off his shoes in a heartbeat. "I've got to go help her! Stay here."

Max, survival instincts slamming in, put a hand on his chest. "No. You won't be strong enough, the swell is too big and you won't be able to see." _I, on the other hand…_

"And you _will_?" he demanded incredulously.

"Yes," Max replied simply, clambering up onto the boat's railing. Brett rushed forward, yelling at her to get down and to not be stupid, that was she was about to do was suicidal, but Maxie shrugged him away. She stripped off her jacket and reached around behind her to tear two holes into the back of the beautiful cream-colored dress that Brett had gotten her for her birthday the year previously. "I'm so sorry, Brett," was all she said before she dove into the rain-thick air, falling three feet before her strong, brown-speckled wings caught a drift of wind.

As Max flew closer and closer to the drowning woman, she couldn't help but feel angry. This wasn't how Brett was supposed to find out about the freaking wings. Brett _wasn't _supposed to find out about the freaking wings at all.

Max looked back down, frantically searching for the woman. Even her sharp eyesight couldn't find the drowning girl in the dark, roiling water. The rain got heavier, the swell higher, and Max let out a shriek of frustration. She circled the area for a bit longer, before spotting something pale and white getting dunked under a wave.

Max swooped down, plunging her hands and body into the water, doing her best not to get her wings too wet. Her fingers scrabbled against a cold, goose-bump riddled arm and she clasped onto it as tight as she could.

Sucking in a breath, Max kicked a few times, propelling herself up from the water, and flapped hard, dragging the woman with her.

She was young, the half-drowned girl—probably nineteen or twenty—and skinny. Pale blonde hair, pale skin—pale everything. She was wispy and frail and Max held this fragile girl close. Making a beeline for the boat, Max steeled herself for the chaos that would no doubt greet her arrival.

Stumbling onto the yacht's deck, yelling hoarsely, "_Who knows CPR_?" She landed, placing the girl down gently. There was silence for a bit, before everyone started yelling.

"Someone call 911!"

"Is that—_Maximum Ride_?!"

"But she's dead!"

"Oh my _God_!"

Amidst the chaos, a middle-aged man with her the colour of salt and pepper pushed his way through the crowd. "Out the way!" he called briskly, "I'm a doctor—_move_. Let me see her."

Max obliged, darting out the way and wincing as she felt everyone's stares. She wiggled her feathers self-consciously, trying to shake the water off them without drawing attention to herself.

Brett found her amongst the murmuring, shocked crowd and pulled on her arm so they weren't in the middle of the hysteria.

"What…," he started, before closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. He was incoherent as he spoke, seemingly ordering his thoughts by saying them aloud. "You're that girl…_Maximum Ride_. The one ten years ago. On the news. They said she was dead. That explosion. _You're supposed to be dead_. But…you're not. And. Wings. You. _Maxie_…Max…Maximum." Brett opened his eyes and said what had to be the stupidest thing he could have at the time: "Does this mean…I got to third base with Maximum Ride?"

Max couldn't help her laughter, but a quick look at Brett's hurt faces sobered her immediately. "Brett, I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I couldn't tell you. I just…I don't want to think about what happened, OK? And…I can't do this anymore."

"But I know who you are…what you are…We can make this work, Maxie…Max. I still love you, feathers and all."

Maxie started crying again. Not Max, not the superhero birdkid that had just saved a woman's life, but Maxie, the _human _girl who had loved Brett for five years. "Brett, I'm so sorry. That doesn't change…me. How _I _feel. It's not fair to you. I'm so sorry," she said, her voice thick.

"It, it's OK," Brett said heavily. "I understand. But…where will you go? Will you be OK?"

"This is what I wanted to tell you before. I was offered a job, teaching P.E.…in Texas."

* * *

**A/N: **And there you go. Sorry I didn't update as soon as I got 10 reviews; I was asleep. Another five reviews and I'll put up the third chapter, but after that I won't be able to update for two-ish weeks. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, I appreciate every single one of them. :-)

Love you all!

~Kay xxx


	3. JAMES & MONIQUE

**3: JAMES & MONIQUE**

**11:13 a.m., Friday**

**September 10th, 2012**

The principal's name was John Tate. He was an amiable old guy, always smiling—except when his students were in deep, deep trouble—and his only fault was that he looked a lot like a rooster, so no-one took him seriously. Not his students, his staff, and not Monique and James Griffiths.

"I called you in here today—well, it ought to be fairly obvious, shouldn't it?" Principal Tate chuckled, clasping his hands together. "I'll skip the preliminaries and get right down to it—you two have the job. Jobs, rather. Between yourself, Mrs Griffiths, and the sixty-year-old woman who smelt like cats—it was no contest. As for _you_, Mr Griffiths, it was a tough one. Your resumé was spotless, your recommendations faultless. On paper, you were perfect for the job. It would be easy, I imagine, to guess at what it is that made me waver in my decision to hire you…"

"Must be my striking good looks and charming personality," said the tall, skinny man with a confident grin. "You thought they'd rival your own."

Principal Tate laughed heartily. "That and your sense of humor!" His expression became serious, and he went on, "I had just been beaten at a game of RISK by my ten-year-old daughter. _Ten years old_. Of course, children take more risks than adults…and yet, this defeat made me realize, _I_ need to _take more risks_. Risks are the things that define life! Make it worth living, _spice things up_! And what's more riskier than a twenty-four year-old blind Science teacher?" James and Principal Tate chuckled. "So, here I am, offering you these jobs. And here _we _are, if you take said jobs, as co-workers."

"Of course we'll take the job!" said James excitedly, reaching over and taking his wife's hand. "Right, Mon?"

"Of course," she agreed. "Thank you so much, sir."

Principal Tate leant back in his chair, surveying the two with satisfaction. "I must say," he said, smiling at the couple in front of him; "this is a first. Never has a married couple both taught—at the same time, at least—at my school. Not to my knowledge."

"Oh, we're very controversial, John," James said with a proud chuckle. "I'm a blind Science teacher, like you said. I think that's as controversial as it gets." He'd always stood out from the crowd, James had—literally. He was so tall, so pale, so very hard to miss. But, unlike far too many others, James did good things with the attention he got from standing out. He goofed off, made others laugh—made _Monique _laugh, which was his favorite pass-time—more often than not leaving complete strangers in stitches.

John Tate laughed heartily. "I'm sure the students will love you both, Mr and Mrs Griffiths."

"Monique, please," said the woman, smiling shyly. She didn't talk as much anymore. Only when she had to.

"Of course, Monique." Principal Tate's tone became more business-like as he addressed James uncomfortably, "Ah, speaking of controversy, Mr Griffiths…James…I wasn't the only one hesitant to hire you. Many people have opposed to you taking the position of Head Science teacher. What with your disability. Parents of students here, mostly."

"Yeah, I imagined that would happen. I guess I could call a meeting with the parents. You know, show them that I'm not completely hopeless and that I won't blow up their children."

"Excellent," said Principal Tate, looking impressed. "I knew hiring you was the right decision." He turned to Monique. "Now, Mrs Griffiths—Monique, my apologies—you've been awfully quiet."

Monique looked up and smiled idly. "Ah, my head's just been in the clouds, John." It wasn't until James chuckled quietly beside her that she realized the pun she'd just made. Such a bad joke. It reminded Monique of something _she _would say.

As the couple laughed quietly at some inside joke, John Tate couldn't help but think idly, _What a striking pair_. And that they were. His blue eyes and her brown; his pallor and her tan; his wispy, unkempt strawberry blonde hair and her thick, painstakingly-styled black hair.

Yin and Yang, almost. Perfect opposites.

"You two can start next Monday."

* * *

**A/N: **Ah, I didn't realise how short that chapter was. I'll put up the fourth in ten/twenty minutes. Updating this story feels awesome :~) Hope you like it, keep the reviews coming!


	4. ARIEL & ZEPHYR

**4: ARIEL & ZEPHYR**

**6:32 p.m., Friday**

**September 11th, 2012**

The siblings were striking, the only truly beautiful things in the musty apartment with little furniture. Naught but a saggy old couch, a small boxy TV that didn't work, an old coffee table, and pizza boxes decorated the cramped lounge room. Puke-colored doors led into the bathroom and the two bedrooms. A small kitchenette was attached to the lounge room—the cupboards in it were bare, and the little food in the fridge, mostly old take-out, was mouldy.

The colors surrounding the pair were dull browns, old yellows, and muted dark greens that vaguely resembled the hue of fungi. They, the brother and sister, were in their prime, not too old and not too young, and despite their dirty surroundings they were completely hygienic. They were stunning.

Their blonde hair and blue eyes were like a beacon against the monotonous tones around them. Even their clothes, plain light jeans and dark hooded sweatshirts, were pristine. Their moods, however, left something to be desired.

The girl, a few years younger than the boy, wrung her hands in her lap. Long, callused fingers twining with each other. She stared at them, too irritated with her brother to look at him. "Please," she said through gritted teeth, doing her best to keep a whine from marring her sweet voice. She was sick of arguing with him, but she _needed _this. They both did. "Please!"

The boy looked at her stonily. His mind was already made up. "No."

The way he said it, so commanding—well, it irked her. How _dare _he speak down to her like that. Yes, she was younger—but by God she was the more powerful of the two. Only her morals and a promise made to herself long ago stopped her from forcing an assenting word from his mouth.

The boy picked up on this train of thought—not by any sort of power, but by reading her expressions—and he smirked. He said condescendingly, "Are you going to play some mind-games with me, Ariel?"

"No," she bit out through still-gritted teeth. "But that doesn't mean I won't punch you in the goddamned face. For Christ's sake, Zeph, we _need _an education!"

"Says who?"

"Me!"

"Exactly. _No_."

Ariel licked her dry lips and rubbed a hand across her face wearily. "We can't keep living like this. Eventually we need a decent-paying _career_—not just some part time job, and definitely not just me waitressing at that grimy restaurant packed with perverts and you _delivering_ _newspapers_, of all things. And to get decent-paying work, we need to go to college." She looked at him pointedly. "And we're not getting into college without going to high school."

"Maybe not. We have your little circus trick, after all. Tell some fibs, get the people at the college to believe them—"

"_NO_!" Ariel shouted, springing to her feet. Zephyr, the boy, had been sitting cross-legged atop an old coffee table smack-bam in the middle of the dusty room. He looked up in surprise—and triumph. He liked getting under her skin, sick and cruel as it was.

"What's the problem?" he asked coolly.

"You _know _I will _never _change someone's mind for them again. I _won't_." Ariel looked panicked at the thought, falling back into the embrace of the couch.

Zephyr muttered sourly, "Yeah, I'm sure."

Ariel ignored him. "Please. We need this. I need this. _Gazzy_—"

As soon as the name slipped between her dry lips, Ariel's hand flew up to her mouth and she cringed. Their names had been taboo for so many years. Every now and then, someone would mess up—sometimes he'd be "G-Zeph", sometimes she'd be "An-riel". But never did a full-blown name escape their mouths.

"I forgot," Ariel whispered, wide-eyed and mortified.

Zephyr regarded his sister stonily—even stonier than before, what a feat! "Whatever," he said, which was all she'd get in the way of forgiveness. It wasn't 'whatever', though. After…_the incident_…the siblings had made sure to steer clear of saying their proper names, their old names. They were off-limits. The pair didn't want to be Angel and Gazzy, Mutant Bird-kid Extraordinaires. However, they didn't want to be left with nothing from their old life. Thus they became Ariel and Zephyr. Again.

"Look, Ariel," Zephyr began, willing his mind away from the sound of his old name, "It's just…" How did he phrase this without ripping apart old, though still barely-healed, wounds? "…Well, the last time we went to school, uh, it didn't work out that good." The two grimaced, but Zephyr couldn't help make a biting remark, "I'm sure you'd remember."

Ariel could remember…vaguely. She'd only been six, after all.

"Look, I think it's a good idea—Jordan thinks it's a good id—" Ariel snapped her mouth shut, but the damage was done. Zephyr's reaction didn't disappoint.

"_Jordan_," repeated Zephyr quietly. "_Jordan _thinks it's a good idea. There we go, folks, better do what _Jordan _says!"

"I think it is too!" Ariel said defensively. "And don't talk about him like that—_please_!"

"_Make _me," said Zephyr. "Go on, Ariel. Make me be nice to Jordan. _Make me say yes_."

Ariel snapped. Zephyr was being all kinds of awful, cruel and biting—more so than usual. She jumped up again and stalked over to her brother, chest heaving and cheeks flushed red from anger. "Don't! Just _don't_! I'm trying, Zephyr, I'm trying! I didn't _mean _to make you…" She trailed off and grimaced, remembering the aftermath of a particularly nasty fight. She couldn't even remember the actual argument or what had started it.

_"I'm sick of you, Ariel."_

_"Yeah? Well leave, then. Go sleep outside and leave me alone!"_

_"Fine!"_

It wasn't until the next morning, when Zephyr stormed inside with dirt smudging his face, that she realized—her mind had subconsciously dredged up her long since acquired mind control. The remains of the siblings' already ruined relationship had been fragmented, seemingly irreparably.

"I told you!" said Ariel voice frantic. "I didn't _mean _to! I'm sorry! OK? I'm sorry!"

"That's not what we're talking about right now," said Zephyr icily.

"Fine! Back on topic then. _Let me enroll in school_."

"No."

She nearly screamed in frustration. "Please! It's a great idea, and Jordan was telling me about how—"

"Don't talk about him under this roof! He's a fool."

"Don't talk about him like that!" Ariel hissed, hands clenching. "You 'gave us your blessing', remember? You let me tell him about the wings. You _accepted _him. What the hell happened to that?"

"I…"

"Shut up! I'm _talking_! Answer me this, though—when have _I _ever been rude to _your _significant other, huh? When have _I _ever said cruel things about Jenna? I love Jenna! She's gorgeous and funny and _nice—_God knows what she sees in a wreck like_ you—_"

Zephyr stood, looking at his sister with his lip curled and fire in his eyes. "Don't you dare question me and Jenna's relationship—"

"Well don't you question Jordan and I's! _Shit_, I hate you sometimes." And, heartbreaking as it was, it was true. She loathed her brother, one of two people left in the world who might actually care about her.

"Don't swear," said Zephyr lowly.

Ariel let out a hysterical laugh. "Of all things, you reprimand my bad language. I'm sixteen now, _Zephyr_," she spat his name out, loathing it now more than ever. "_Sixteen_! And I need an education! You do too if you want a decent job!"

"You have your mind tricks!" he hissed at her. "You don't _need _an education!"

"You know very well I never use those anymore!"

"I beg to differ."

"That was one time! I didn't realize I was—"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, I've heard this crap before. As if Jordan would have accepted you without you 'tweaking' his perception."

Ariel stood stock-still. Instead of the fire of anger, the ice of betrayal and _hurt _stung her. Zephyr looked somewhat ashamed of his words—and their effect on Ariel—but he didn't take them back. Ariel waited, just in case he would. He didn't. Ariel brought her hand up to scratch the back of her head, inching forward a bit, and then socked him square on the nose.

"Wha' de 'ell!" he yelled nasally. "Shid!" Blood dripped down Zephyr's chin and onto his dark blue t-shirt.

"My hand slipped," said Ariel.

"You _bith_," choked out Zephyr.

Ariel didn't flinch. "How would you like it if I questioned your relationship with Jenna? Huh?"

"Dere's nothin' _do _quesdion! Jenna and I love each odder!"

"_And so do me and Jordan_!"

"You're doo young do know whad love id!"

"You started dating her when you were my age! You filthy hypocrite!" As she spoke, Ariel grabbed her brother's shirt neck. She shook him with every word, her mind clouded with anger. She couldn't stop thinking about Zephyr's assumption of her _forcing _Jordan to be with her. "How—dare—you! Don't _ever_—say I would—make—_force—_Jordan to love me!" And anyway, love wasn't an emotion that could be forced by mind control. The closest you could get would be heavy infatuation and sexual attraction…and what Ariel and Jordan has was so much more than that.

"Let go ob me," said Zephyr quietly. His words cut through Ariel's infuriated haze. She looked at him properly for the first time—there were already had heavy purple bruises blooming around his eyes, his nostrils were encrusted with blood and his chin was stained red. He looked like hell.

Ariel's hands unclenched and she slowly stepped away, falling back into the couch's uncomfortable, but familiar, embrace.

_What have we come to_, thought Ariel in melancholy, but she didn't voice it. Had she delved into Zephyr's mind, she would have heard a similar, nostalgic musing.

"I-I'm sorry," said Ariel quietly, sadly. Every thought that had entered her conflicted mind in the past years seemed to reappear, every negative inkling and every slice of the past. She started crying.

_What a turn of the conversation_, thought Zephyr wryly. He pulled his sleeve down over his hand and tried to mop up the blood still drizzling from his nose, too awkward in the situation to offer proper comfort. One thing was certain amidst the chaos of emotion—Ariel could still punch just as well—far, far better, actually—as when she was six. Which is to say, _very _well.

"Oh, A," mumbled Zephyr. He called her that sometimes, when he couldn't bear to speak her real name orsay her newest alias. He wasn't sure which hurt the more—the name filled with memories or the name that denied them their past, their very essence.

"It's just…I miss them so much. I don't—I don't know what to do!" Ariel said, choking down sobs. She yanked an old threadbare cushion from the other side of the sofa and pressed her face into it. Her shoulders shook.

"I know. I know," said Zephyr wearily. "I miss them as well."

_I miss me, too. And you…Angel_. He grimaced at his thoughts and tried to keep them off of his face. He needed to stay strong for his sister, just as he'd done all those times when they were younger. He hadn't needed to put on a brave face for Ariel for years. It felt comforting and familiar to do as much now. He said, "But…A…we can't do anything about it. About them. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's just…what's done is done. We can only do one thing, and that's move on." Zephyr cringed at how bad his advice was. He just had no idea what else he could say to help.

"Zeph," said Angel in a small voice, "I don't want to be Ariel anymore." She held her breath and awaited his reaction.

Much to her surprise, Gazzy smiled wearily and met his sister's eyes. She was peeking above the mouldy-tasseled pillow, wondering what he'd say. At her brother's smile, Angel relaxed slightly.

"Good," said Gazzy, "because I was really starting to get sick of the name Zephyr."

He stood, stretching his legs. "I'm going to go clean myself up."

"Gaz?" said Angel, wiping her teary eyes, the name unfamiliar on her tongue—yet achingly well-known and…natural…despite that.

The Gasman looked at her warily. "Yeah?"

Angel didn't know if she was pushing it, but she asked anyway. "Uh…school?"

"Maybe, Ange," he said, walking towards the bathroom. "Maybe."

* * *

**A/N: **Pretty similar to the old story's equivalent of this chappie, but eh. I probably won't be able to upload for another two weeks. I may reconsider that if this story gets 30 reviews, but I doubt that'll happen. In any case, I hope you liked it and I love you all. :~)


	5. VARIOUS

**5: GAZZY & JAMES**

**8.03 a.m., Monday**

**September 13th, 2012 **

"Good morning, class," said James energetically. It was his first time teaching science at this school—or ever, really—and he had a senior class who, he knew, would be easy to please. "My name is Mr Griffiths. You can go ahead and call me James, though. Much more easy-going, not as tight-assy."

Girls all around the room were whispering and giggling. James winced as he picked up broken conversations:

_Oh my. He is _way _too young to be teaching…_

_Sarah, is it just me or do you want to see him naked?_

_That's a face that could turn men gay!_

Super-hearing wasn't all that fun in certain situations. This one included. Compliments from girls were all well and good—welcome, in fact—but not from under-age girls. _Teenagers_. James shuddered and wondered how these young ladies would react if they knew he was able to hear them. Or if they knew about the dirty great pair of wings on his back.

"Does anyone have any questions?" James asked loudly. "Personal, work-related…get 'em out the way. Your one and only chance"

Girls' hands shot up all around the classroom. James pointed randomly and they threw questions at him.

"Sexuality?"

_Oh, boy_. "Straight."

"Shoe size? I hear that it's linked with the size of something else."

_Pretending I didn't hear that_.

"Boxers or briefs?"

_Pretending I didn't hear that, either_.

"Relationship status?"

"Married," James said firmly. A chorus of disappointed sighs rang through the room.

"What's with your eyes, dude?" said a drawling voice at the front. "They're trippin' me out."

"He's blind, moron," said a voice from the back of the room.

James' eyelids fluttered at the familiar voice. "Ga—uh. I'm sorry. How'd you know, dude? Not many people can guess," James said, directing his words towards the boy who'd spoken.

"You're joking, right? How could I _not_ know, more like. Your eyes aren't focusing on who you're talking to—they're close, but not quite there. And you tilt your head so your ears have more access to the speaker, rather than your eyes. And you're always touching things, like you're getting your bearings."

"Woah. Ten points to Gryffindor. Well done, very perceptive of you," James nodded, impressed. "How'd you know all that?"

"I knew someone who was blind," replied the kid as everyone around him started whispering.

_Holy crap—we're gonna die._

_He'll blow up the goddamn lab—accidentally mix up the wrong chemicals or something…we're goners._

_That's so sad, right, Katie? I just want to give him a hug…or something…probably 'or something'…_

_That's freaky as all crap. Like, he sort of looks at you but doesn't…woah…_

_Bull-crap he's blind! It's probably some joke he and the new kid up the back orchestrated. They're pulling our legs. If he's blind, then I guess I'm going to prom with Chelsea Trundell._

"Name?"

"The blind guy, or me?"

"You, fool," said James, rolling his sightless eyes.

"Oh, right. Um, I'm G—Zephyr."

James turned his face away quickly. _Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Just a coincidence._

"OK, you lot, enough questions. Who wants to learn some science?!"

The class groaned.

* * *

**5.5: MONIQUE & ANGEL**

**8.46 a.m., Monday **

**September 13th, 2012**

Monique, who had become unbelievably quiet in the past ten years, was only really ever chatty in front of her students. She'd taught for six months at another school, over in Dallas, and she'd loved it.

"Hi, everyone," she said brightly, brown eyes surveying the room. "My name is Mrs Griffiths, and—"

"Woah. Hold up," said a red-headed girl incredulously. "You're like, twenty. Or something. And you're _married_! How'd you manage that?"

Monique chuckled. "It was pretty easy. Just took a forged signature and a road trip to New England," she said breezily. The class tittered, some thinking she was joking. The only pupil that didn't laugh was a girl in the back; instead, she winced, remembering—vaguely—of a time when _she'd _spoken of a marriage between lovers in New England. "Actually, you guys might know my husband already. He's the new science teacher. He was introduced in assembly this morning."

"_Holy crap_," said the same red-headed girl who'd spoken before. "_James_? He's…_gorgeous_…you're so lucky!"

"Uh, thank you, Lissa—I mean. Sorry. You remind me of someone. What's your name?" The blonde girl at the back had zoned out again. If only she'd just _listened_ to what her teacher was saying, she might have picked up on the mention of this 'Lissa' person. Saved everyone a lot of trouble.

"My name's Carly…," the girl said.

"Right, of course. My apologies. Now, class, listen up. This year we'll be looking at…"

* * *

**5.9: REX**

**8.51 a.m., Monday**

**September 13th, 2012**

Rex opened his eyes, flying to the present. His teacher, an old, bespectacled recovering alcoholic by the name of Arnold Bennyfather droned on about stuff like multiplying algebraic fractions or Pythagorus' Theory or skinning cute little puppies alive. A blowfly hummed nearby, annoying the students seated in the back row and making them look ridiculous when they swatted at it with their textbooks. A fan swished systematically above his head, doing nothing but stirring the dry Texas air that everyone in the classroom was drowning in. Of all blocks for the school not to have installed air-cons in, it it _had _to be the Math block.

"Hey—knew kid," someone hissed, the dry air stirring more as a crumpled piece of paper landed on Rex's desk. "Pass that to the girl in front of you—no, not her, the _hot _one—yeah, that one. Sweet. Cheers, man. Let's hope she says yes." Rex barely listened to him, though, or the excited whispering of the girls in front of him as they read the note. The only thing he was concentrating was the events that had just played out in his head—events which had also played out in the Technology block. Room 12T, to be exact.

Angel. Angel, you _oblivious moron_. Monique—Nudge—the Nudge Channel—whatever you wanted to call her, she'd been _right there_. Right in front of you, not even ten feet away.

But no. Angel, the self-absorbed, ignorant _idiot _had been too busy wallowing in self-loathing.

_Dammit, Angel_, thought Rex.

* * *

**A/N: **Ta-da. Reviews?


	6. MAX, NICK & REX

**6: MAX**

**9.53 p.m., Monday**

**September 13th, 2012**

Max inspected the apartment that the school had provided her (albeit temporarily), appraising it contentedly. In the letter of approval that she had received saying she got the job, it had stated that a place to stay would be supplied, taking into consideration that she would be moving interstate for the position.

Speaking with the school's principal later, he had warned her that it would be shared living quarters. _"You're not the only person transferring from another school—or state, even—and you'll have to share your apartment with another teacher moving from out of Texas. I hope that's OK with you," he'd said, seeming genuinely concerned with how she felt about the situation. _Max had assured him that it would be OK.

It was definitely a great deal—fully furnished with two bedrooms. Well, three bedrooms—the previous owner had changed the study into a small-ish bedroom that looked fit for a twelve- to seventeen-year-old boy.

All Max had to do to get settled was throw her scarce items into her room—"The one with the green bedsheets," her new landlord had said over the phone—and her toiletries in the bathroom, and she'd be set to collapse into bed and sleep (thank goodness; she was exhausted). Her new roommates were supposed to be moving in later that night, or early the next day. Max wasn't really concerned with having to share the place with someone; she'd stay out of their way, and they'd stay out of hers. Hiding her wings wouldn't be a problem, either—the only way Max's roommates would catch a glimpse of her feathery friends would be if they caught her naked.

And that wouldn't happen.

She paused on her way back from using the toilet, deciding it would be good manners to leave a note for her new roomies. She scrounged some paper up from her notebook, found an old biro left lying on the kitchen bench by the previous tenant, and began scribbling:

_Hi—_

_Sorry I wasn't up to say hello when you first arrived, but I was absolutely exhausted after driving all day. Just thought I'd lay some ground rules:_

_Please__ try and put the toilet seat down after you do your business (I've lived with guys before; I know what you're like), or I'll make sure you won't be able to do your business at all._

_Secondly, and this is more of a warning for as opposed to a rule, but I can't cook for crap. So if neither of you have any culinary talents to make up for my lack of them, then I guess that I'd better start trying to memorize the local pizza parlor's number, huh? Hope you don't mind pepperoni._

_Other things to remember: do not wake me up before 12 AM on a weekend morning; knock before coming into my room; __never_ _eat the last cookie; and, lastly, please don't bring any girlfriends/dates back here. I'm an expert at the vicious cold-shoulder and after your booty call meets me, well, she'll no longer be your booty call._

_—Max._

* * *

**6.5: NICK & REX**

**11.48 p.m., Monday**

**September 13th, 2012**

It was almost midnight when the yellow cab rumbled to a stop and Nick gently shook Rex awake. The boy mumbled grumpily for a while, until the cabbie impatiently honked the horn. Rex shot up, gave the driver the bird in the rearview mirror, and clambered out drowsily to get his luggage. Nick paid the driver—no tip; _that's for being a jerk_—and went out to help Rex with their gear.

They packed extremely light. Although Rex had lived a fairly light-hearted life, Nick had made sure that he knew the essentials of being on the run—just in case. Because, really, you never knew when the Psychopathic Nerd Squad would rock up and try to kidnap you so they could perform heinous and unthinkable experiments on you and your family members. (Although maybe that just came with Nick's upbringing.)

Nick had taught Rex all sort of things, really. How to fight, how to fly, how to tie a tie—Beck's brother's wedding—and how to survive.

As the pair lugged their heavy suitcases up the staircase—seemed that the cheapskate building owner was too slack to fix the elevators—it was completely silent until Rex asked out of the blue, "Who is she?"

"Who's who?" said Nick with a grunt, unjamming his suitcase's wheel from a loose floorboard.

"The girl. The one you're in love with."

Nick grimaced. Rex had always been an intuitive little dude, and he didn't know if that was a gift or a curse. The kid just _knew _things, it seemed. And this…'knack'…that Rex had saved Nick from answering quite a few awkward questions, but then it also caused Rex to ask a few _painful_ questions. Like this one, now.

"Dunno what you're talking about," Nick said shortly, voice gruff, as they reached their floor. Nick fished the small brass key from his pocket and opened the door.

The two stepped inside, walking into a lounge-room with a boxy TV, threadbare but unstained lounge, and a clean-looking rug that had been flattened by time. To the right was a kitchen and next to the fridge was a small hallway that Nick guessed lead to two of the bedrooms. Next to the TV, directly opposite the door, was another short hallway. Down it, Nick could see the laundry-slash-bathroom, and closer inspection found that the study-turned-bedroom that Rex would sleep in was also down that corridor.

"Luxury!" Rex yelled, grinning happily. "And, hey—no drug dealers at this place!"

"_Ssshhh_," Nick hissed, flicking Rex in the back of the head. "The other tenant is probably asleep, you clown!"

Rex grinned, unabashed. "Whatever, Nick. You never answered my question, either," he added, taking a running jump as he spoke and belly-flopping onto the sofa with a grunt. He rolled over and stretched out, legs hanging over the edge, and Nick was suddenly struck with how fast Rex had grown up.

"The girl? She doesn't matter anymore." She _shouldn't _matter anymore, anyway. It had been, what, ten years? A whole _decade_. It was kind of ridiculous he still remembered how her hair smelled (usually dirt and sweat, but when it was clean, it was all hot cocoa and strawberries). But he did. "She's gone, that's all there is to it," he added shortly, sensing that Rex would pry some more.

Rex nodded, mouth pursed. "Well," he said, trying to pretend he was floundering, that he was trying to think of something to say. When, really, he was trying to contain all the things that he wanted to say. "That…sucks."

Nick glanced over at Rex and actually laughed aloud. "Eloquent, Rex, really eloquent."

The younger boy shrugged sheepishly. "Learnt it all from you, Nick."

Nick shook his head with a little grin. "Off to bed." Rex got that look on his face—the one he'd get when he was readying himself for an argument. "Nope, don't start. _Bed_. It's nearly midnight and we _both _have to be at that school at six, sharp."

"No, _you _have to be at that school at '_six_, _sharp_'," mimicked Rex sourly. "You're just dragging _me _along because you couldn't be bothered checking out bus time-tables!"

"You couldn't be bothered checking them out either," Nick reminded him. "Now get your butt to bed before I kick it there."

"But I'm _hungryyyyy_," whined Rex.

"Of course you are," Nick muttered. "I doubt the other person living here has stocked food in the cupboards yet. And, anyway, we just had McDonalds!"

"So what—oh, hey, look!" Rex sprang up and went to the counter, picking up a rumpled piece of paper and holding it up in triumph. "A _note_," he said mysteriously, holding it up and squinting at it. "On _paper_…what could this beeeee! What could this meeaaan!"

"You're way too tired to be awake and talking," Nick said, striding over to Rex and plucking the note from his hand.

Rex plucked it right back. "I wasn't _finished_." He held the paper at arm's length, put a hand on his hip and cocked it, and pursed his lips. Nick rolled his eyes at the boy's antics.

"You're impossible."

"This girl sounds like a real charmer—oh, that's an _awesome _name," he said fervently. "I bet she's hot." Nick held a hand out for the note again, but Rex danced out of the way nimbly.

Nick pinched the bridge of his nose, knowing full well that he could easily take the note from Rex if he wanted. "You're a real pain, I hope you know that."

"I do my best," Rex grinned proudly. He let out an _oof _as Nick unexpectedly reeled him in, putting him in a head-lock. "I get it, I get it," laughed Rex as Nick wrested the note from his hand. "You're the dominant male! Big scary silverback gorilla! _Eee-oo-aa-aa_!" He tickled his armpits and blew up his cheeks, eyes crossed and looking ridiculous.

"I'll kill you one day," Nick muttered, scanning the note quickly. Rex watched his expressions keenly, counting down the seconds until that stony mask would crack.

It didn't.

"Off to bed, come on," Nick said, voice even. His voice wasn't even _too _even, as if he were putting on a façade. It was…normal. It shouldn't be. Rex opened his mind to the world around him, to the future and the past and the present and Nick's conscience, and saw—he hadn't even read the damn signature. With a bit of prodding, Rex knew why: _So much like her, wow. That's just…so Max. Not going to read the name at the bottom. Don't want to deal with it being someone else's._

Rex tried not to openly grimace; it was kind of pathetic, really, how blinded by their own self-loathing and depression and pigheadedness all these bird-kids were.

"What'd you think of the name, Nick?" Rex asked curiously, eyes innocent. "What an awesome name for a chick, _am I right_?"

"The, uh, name? Yeah, it was alright." Nick glanced back down at the sheet and did a double-take. "Holy—" He coughed, seeming to have choked on his own saliva. Nick looked from the paper, those three cruel letters in that messy writing, up to an innocent looking Rex, back to the paper.

"Cool, huh?" said Rex with a yawn. "Anyway, yeah, I think I'll hit the sack. 'Night!"

He left Nick, opening his mind once again. Max's consciousness was peaceful and blank, and Nick's was…tormented. Rex sighed. They'd find each other eventually.

* * *

**A/N: **Last chapter was pretty short, so here's another one for you guys. Enjoy :-)


	7. MAX & REX

**7: MAX & REX**

**5.15 a.m., Tuesday**

**September 14th, 2012**

Max groaned as her alarm commenced its daily torture, screeching out horrible tones and vibrating fiercely right under her pillow. _Dammit_, she thought, _why couldn't I have taken the freaking night shift? _Oh, yeah—school teacher. She cursed.

Ugh.

Her cell—which was, for all intents and purposes, her alarm clock—continued to be a major pain in the ear. Max had stuck it directly beneath her pillow the night before; an awful idea, really, in hindsight. The volume wasn't high, and the sounds weren't awful—they'd even be pleasant, were it not the crack of dawn. It'd be nice to hear the pleasant, neutral tones any other time, Max thought…if she hadn't been trying to get some _goddamned shut-eye_. But she _was _trying to get some goddamned shut-eye, and right now, the sound of her alarm was about as welcome as…an unexpected round of the menstrual cycle. Yeah. _That _unwelcome.

Groaning in frustration, Max grabbed her phone, hit the 'Close' button on her alarm, and promptly threw it at the wall. Thank god it was a Nokia.

She immediately regretted her rash actions—was throwing her cell at a wall _really _necessary?—as soon as she realized that her new roommates had probably arrived, and were most likely asleep (the lucky bastards). Max figured that she may as well let their own demon alarm clocks wake them up, rather than her own being pitched violently at a wall. And, anyway, Max didn't want to meet them in her current state (ticked off, tired, grouchy and un-caffeinated). She'd become somewhat reliant on caffeine during the past few years ('past few years' = previous lonely, awful, depressing _decade_). It wasn't as if she'd had anything to motivate her to wake up, after all. She'd had the lunch and afternoon shifts at the café where she'd worked, and she'd taken night courses at the local college.

Seriously, without having anyone to wake up to boss around, there really wasn't any point in _getting _up.

Knowing that if she didn't get back up _now_, she'd be asleep in minutes and wouldn't be able to get up for the next century, Max leapt out of bed. She hoped that the energetic spring would wake her up more—on the contrary, it made her head pound and eyes black out for a few minutes.

She walked over to her still-packed bag unsteadily, trying to get her thoughts in order. Max knew that she'd be teaching gym—her timetable had been emailed to her.

**_HOMEROOM_**_—SOPHOMORES  
_**_FIRST_**_—GYM, FRESHMEN  
_**_SECOND_**_—GYM, JUNIORS  
_**_THIRD_**_—GYM, SOPHOMORES  
_**_FOURTH_**_—LUNCH  
_**_FIFTH_**_—STUDY HALL, SENIORS  
_**_SIXTH_**_—FREE  
_**_SEVENTH_**_—GYM, SENIORS._

Max frowned, wondering what sort of clothes she'd have to wear. She chose a pair of comfortable three-quarter running pants, runners, a plain blue t-shirt and a hoodie to throw over it. She grabbed a gym bag, scrounged up a water bottle from her suitcase and threw it in, shoved a change of 'normal teacher' clothes in there for the study period she had with seniors, and pulled it over her shoulder. She'd duck into the grocery store before school and pick up something to eat.

She crept out of her room and down the hall, making sure to be ninja quiet—which wasn't hard, considering how light she was due to her feathery genes.

Once Max had ninja'ed her way into the kitchen, she got the surprise of her life. It seemed that she wasn't the only one who was awake.

A skinny boy with wild brown hair and electrifying blue eyes grinned impishly at her. "Helloooo," he sang cheerfully, far too cheerful for a teenager—or anyone—up at this hour. And without coffee, even. "Hmm. You're Max, then. Nick doesn't know you're you. He thinks this is just some sick game played on him by 'the Fates' or whatever he believes in. He thinks she's dead, but in fact she is you and you are her, and he will soon know that you are her and that she, or you, is not dead. It may take awhile, you know. You'll be playing tag with each other's identities for way too long, as far as I'm concerned. But it's amusing, anyway."

Max frowned, taken aback and completely clueless as to what the hell this blue-eyed boy had just uttered. "Um…that's…that's cool, I guess," was all she was able to muster. "Nice to meet you too. I didn't know that—Nick, was it?—had a son. I was under the impression that he was around my age, actually. Nick, I mean." In fact, Max had been assured by Principal Tate that her roommate was going to be roughly her age and had no children—the only thing that he would bring to the apartment, actually, other than his personal effects, was a pet.

"He doesn't. I'm not. Nick's more like…We're more like brothers." The boy grinned sheepishly. "Nick told Principal Tate that he'd be bringing a 'pet' to this apartment. Well, _surprise!_, I'm the pet. We just didn't want any drama. Or extra paperwork." His eyes suddenly became imploring. "Please don't tell."

Max laughed. "Of course I won't tell. But, um, it'd help to know your name. I'm—"

"—Max, yeah, I read your note. I'm Ty, but I prefer Rex."

"Sure thing, Rex. Nice to meet you. So, you're going to the local high school, right?"

The boy wrinkled his nose comically. "Unfortunately, yes. I mean, Nick didn't go to high school—and he's totally fine. Doesn't know how to speak sometimes, but other than that, _fine_!"

Max shook her head and smiled. "If you don't go, you'll regret it when you're older."

"Yeah, right." He rolled his eyes. "So what are you teaching at the school?" Rex asked, hoisting himself up onto the kitchen counter and swinging his legs cheerfully.

"Gym, and I think I take study hall every now and then. Oh, and track after school. You better try out," I added. He laughed, and I asked, "Hey, you wouldn't have happened to have re-stocked the cupboards while I was asleep? I'm starved."

"Nope, sorry," said Rex with a shrug. "We'll probably just go to IHOP on the way to school, or something."

Max sighed dramatically, said a good-bye and wished him the best for his first day of school with a promise to say hi if she saw him in the hall, and headed out into the dry Texas morning. While she was hanging for toast and bacon, McDonald's hot-cakes and watery coffee would have to do.

* * *

**A/N: **Voilà. Reviews?


	8. MAX & IGGY

**8: MAX & JAMES**

**7.39 a.m., Tuesday**

**September 14th, 2012**

"My name is Max Martinez," lied Maximum Ride, addressing the petite, friendly woman sitting the school's reception desk—she had to be about twenty-six years old, with natural blonde hair pulled up in a cheerful piggytail. Max had her hand over her mouth to prevent chewed-up hashbrown from flying onto the secretary. She'd already stuffed herself with two Bacon'N'Egg McMuffins and a whole hotcakes dish, plus the XL vanilla latté she'd ordered. "I need to see Principal Tate. I start work here today."

"That's awesome!" the girl said enthusiastically, smiling at Max; her grin was blindingly white, but her teeth were endearingly wonky. Max smiled back, pleased at the warm welcome. The receptionist continued, "Man, I'm so glad that John—Principal Tate—has started employing people that aren't, you know, _ancient_. We need some young blood around here. I'm Mina, by the way."

"As in, _Dracula_?" said Max without thinking.

Mina wrinkled her nose. "Too many people have greeted me with that. But yes, Mina as in _Dracula_. And Mina as in Wilhelmina. My mom was—still is, the old bat—a sadist."

"Sorry, I just recently read the book," Max said sheepishly, grinning a little. "It's nice to meet you, though, Mina. I'm Max. And that's actually so great about the whole 'young blood' thing. I was worried that I'd be stuck working with uptight Science teachers with no sense of humor."

"On the contrary—," started Mina with a grin, but she was interrupted by a jokingly affronted voice.

"'_Uptight science teachers with no sense of humour_'," said a tall blonde man, striding over to Max. Students milling around the corridors smirked—not all of them had actually had Mr Griffiths for science yet, but they'd all heard about him. He was a legend in the making, and a cute one to boot.

Max's 'swear filter', which she had promised she'd use at all times during her teaching hours, left her momentarily. "No freaking way!" she choked out, seeing him. He was tall, he was pale, he was blue-eyed, he was unnervingly accurate with his eyes…and he was blind.

It was just a coincidence…a sick, twisted coincidence—right?

The man frowned, and students along the corridor turned to stare at Max in astonishment. "No need to _swear_," said James, as Max's hand flew to her mouth and she flushed.

"I'm…sorry," she said, chagrinned. "It's just, wow, you look so much like someone I know. Used to know. Whatever."

"Ah," James murmured, sobering a little. "Well then, I guess I'll have to make a good first impression. My name is James Griffiths. A totally _not_-uptight and one hundred percent hilarious Science teacher. It's nice to meet you…?" He trailed off, leaving a blank for Max to fill in her name.

She was too busy reeling at the _James Griffiths _she'd just heard, though. The name was like a punch to Max's gut. Just another coincidence, though: it had to be. There were hundreds of thousands of James Griffithses out there in America alone. _Right_? Max cleared her throat, saying, "I'm, uh, Max Ri—I mean, Max Martinez. Bad-ass extraordinaire by night, high school gym teacher by da—"

"_Max_?!"

The recognition in that one word was unmistakable. This couldn't be a coincidence. Max didn't _believe _in coincidence.

This

Was

Not

A

Coincidence

"I…Iggy?"

* * *

**8.5: IGGY & MAX**

**7.46 a.m., Tuesday**

**September 14th, 2012**

Iggy blinked in shock. That voice of hers…that unbelievable familiarity. The way she said his name. She'd said it a thousand times before—albeit over a decade ago—and this sounded just like then. It was just…unbelievable. He couldn't string thoughts together properly. He couldn't think. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening.

_This is happening_.

Murmurs of confusion surrounded them, but the chattering and discombobulated students were easy to ignore—it was like the teenagers were background noise in a TV show. They didn't count; they were extras in a film. All that mattered, in that moment, was Max. She was _here_. She was alive. His sister, the girl who had pretty much raised him, who had protected him and helped him and cared for him…she was here. She was here, with a faster-than-normal-heartbeat, _alive_.

"Son of a b—," he began, his voice choked.

"_Iggy_," Max interrupted tearfully, "What have I told you about not swearing!"

The only warning Iggy had before Max threw herself at him was a rush of air and a tiny, strangled cry from her. And then her arms were wrapped around him and she was sobbing into his shirt, blubbering about how he was alive and that she'd missed him and that she didn't know how she had coped without him and did he know if anyone else had survived and that she was so, so sorry.

_I'm home_, was all Iggy could think.

Screw murmurs of confusion—all the students along the corridor were talking loudly, yelling at their friends over the voices of others, everyone throwing ideas around as to what was going on, theories and back-stories that might add up. _Ex-girlfriend. Ex-wife. Estranged, evil twin. _And, stupidest of all, _daughter_. None of them were anywhere near the truth.

"I thought he was married?" one girl said loudly, but no-one really paid her any attention.

Students looking on couldn't help but think, _So, this is the hard-ass, state-of-the-art gym teacher we're supposed to be whipped into shape by? Yeah, right. _"Well," said one exceptionally cocky sophomore, nudging his friend, "Looks like gym's going to be easy this year."

Some other time, Maximum Ride would have turned around and kicked this kid's butt. (In a mature, verbal way, as you'd expect of a teacher; she would have used big words like 'presumptuous' and 'misogynistic' and levelheaded phrases like 'up yours, dickweed' and then given him a nice big serving of detention). But now, she was just Max, and she was infinitely grateful that her brother was back and in her arms. She did, however, look up and glare at the kid through watery eyes, memorizing his face for later.

When the pair finally pulled apart, Max sniffled slightly and wiped her eyes. "I've been crying way too much lately," she mumbled.

Iggy laughed shakily. "I just…I can't believe this. You're supposed to be…I _saw _that explosion, and you were inside…and—" The bell shrieked, cutting off his words. He grimaced. "I have a home-room class to get to, and I'm sure you do too. Plus you have to see John. I have fourth period for lunch, and a free sixth."

"Same for me," Max said, raising her voice above the milling students' chatter. "I'll find you in the staffroom during fourth, OK? And we'll talk about…everything."

"Definitely," said Iggy, blind eyes shining happily. "I have so much to tell you."

* * *

**8.9: MAX & PRINCIPAL TATE**

**8:03 a.m., Tuesday**

**September 14th, 2012**

"Max Martinez, yes?"

Max grimaced at the name she'd chosen. 'Maximum Ride' was too well-known after that fatal explosion; Fang's blog had gotten more visitors than ever, and the news—newspapers, TV news, radio news, you name it—had 'blown up'—_that pun was way too far, Max_, she thought—with the story of the lost bird-kids and the sacrifice they'd made defeating the School and Itex. They weren't 'angels come to save the world' anymore. No, now they were 'fallen winged-warriors'.

"That's me," said Max, pulling herself into the present and inspecting the principal nervously. She fought the urge to giggle when she realized what he reminded her of—a rooster. "I'm so sorry I'm late, sir," she added, cringing at the thought of how bad an impression she'd made. "It's just…one of the other teachers you'd hired, Ig—James Griffiths, I mean—I grew up with him. He's like a brother, and we hadn't seen each other for ten years." Distantly, Max realized that she was rambling. She just really didn't want to get fired on the first day.

"It's completely fine, Max," Principal Tate assured her soothingly. "Now, I really don't mean to rush you, but I think your home-room class started three minutes ago."

"Oh, shoot," Max muttered, standing up quickly and hoisting her bag over her shoulder. "I promise I'm not usually this—unorganized. I was just kind of…rocked off balance after seeing Ig—James this morning."

"Like I said, completely fine."

Max smiled gratefully. "Thank you so much. Oh, and the try-outs for track—when are they held, how do I get word out, etcetera?"

"It will be in the announcements in home-room. They're scheduled to come on in about four minutes. Just be down at the field at four-thirty this afternoon, and anyone wanting to try out will show up."

"Thank you again. So much. I look forward to working with you."

* * *

**A/N: **You wanted a reunion, you got a reunion. Max and Nick—Fang—will find each other soon enough. Just be patient. :-)


	9. VARIOUS1

**9: NICK**

**8:04 a.m., Tuesday**

**September 14th, 2012**

"Sorry I'm late, class," said Nick as he stepped into his home-room class—a room full of freshmen blinked back at him lazily. "I got held up." A sheepish Rex ducked into the room after him, grinning ear to ear, and slid into the nearest available desk.

"Now, my name is Nick Walker. Mr Walker to you all. I haven't been given a class list yet, so I'm going to trust you all to tell me who's away." Nick glanced around the room, counting quickly. "Twenty-four people here, so that's only one person missing. Name, please?"

"Cherié Addams," said a girl with short blonde hair chewing gum. "She has a doctor's appointment. My name's Elise, by the way," she added with a smile, blowing a glistening pink bubble.

"As if!" another girl, sitting a row behind Elise, scoffed loudly. This girl had straight black hair and a contemptuous sneer. "She's off playing hooky with her boyfriend."

"Shut up, Emma! What the _hell_?" Elise cried indignantly, turning around to glare at the dark-haired teenager. The two threw daggers at each other with their heavily made-up eyes. "You _bitch_!"

"That's what Cherié gets for being a back-stabbing piece of sh—"

Nick's head was already aching. "Ladies!" he said loudly, glancing at the two bickering girls in annoyance. "I do not want your pathetic dramas brought into my classroom. This is real life, not an episode of _90210_. Now—Elise, how do you spell 'Cherié'?"

Elise smiled flirtatiously and smacked her gum. "You remembered my name," she noted with a satisfied smile.

Nick shot her a flat look. "You told it to me under sixty seconds ago. Don't feel special. Now, don't make me ask again, how do you spell 'Cherié'? S-H-E-R-R-Y, or C-H-E-R-E-E, or what?"

The majority of the class smirked. This guy, however strict he seemed to be, was no-nonsense and straight to the point. Nick—Mr Walker—was instantly respected by the class at large.

"C-H-E-R-I-E," rattled off Elise sullenly. "And there's that French dot thing above the second 'e'."

Nick nodded, scribbling the name down. "One 'D' or two in 'Addams'?"

"Two."

"OK. Thank you, Elise." The school song started up as the TV in the top corner of the room flicked on. "As soon as the announcements are over, you're all dismissed," Nick added.

The class grinned appreciatively and one girl at the back whispered, "What is _with _all these super hot teachers turning up?"

* * *

**9.5: MAX**

**8.07 a.m., Tuesday**

**September 14th, 2012**

Max's home-room class was full of rowdy sophomores, smirking at her as she rushed in late with her hair disheveled. There was a couple glued to each other in the back row, someone was throwing a paper airplane around, and everyone else was either up out of their seats or talking loudly to the person next to them. The announcements had ended just as she entered the room.

"Everyone, get seated," Max called loudly, clapping her hands. "And by that I mean in your _own _seats, not on your boyfriend's lap," she added sternly, looking at the couple in the back row. Once everyone had settled down—somewhat—she continued, "OK, my name is Max Martinez. Miss Martinez to you lot. I haven't been given a roll sheet yet, unfortunately, so if there's anyone away, can you tell me the name of that person?"

"Benjamin Franklin," said someone with a snicker.

"Britney Spears," said someone else.

"Neil Armstrong."

"Christopher Columbus."

"Steve Jobs."

"Harry Potter."

"Barack Obama."

"William Shakespeare."

"Johnny Depp."

"OK, that's enough!" Max interrupted crossly. Everyone in the room smirked at her again. Max stopped herself from visibly fuming; what was _with _all the attitude she was getting? Was it karma for her own past disrespect for authority? Whatever it was, Max was not happy about it. Placing her hands on her hips, she said flatly, "You're all hilarious, really. And I'm sure you'll still be laughing during detention this afternoon. Four-thirty sharp."

"You're the new track coach," said the boy who had called out 'Harry Potter' before. "And that's when try-outs are. You won't be able to supervise our detention."

"I actually will, since you will all be joining me. Thanks again for volunteering to try out!" Max said, faking enthusiasm.

The whole class groaned. A shy-looking girl with wiry limbs put her hand up and asked quietly, "What if we were already trying out for track?"

"Then your only punishment will be having to try out with twenty-four of these buffoons."

The school's song rang out on the TV, and Max said quickly, "I want everyone to write their names down on this piece of paper as you leave. And don't even think of writing down a fake name—I'll want to see your Student I.D.s. Fail to do so and I _will _go through with forcing you guys to try out."

Thirteen out of the twenty-five students swore bitterly.

* * *

**9.9: ANGEL & MONIQUE**

**8:30 a.m., Tuesday**

**September 14th, 2012**

Angel was beginning to become restless. It was her second Design lesson, and the class was a good one; Mrs Griffiths was an excellent teacher and had managed to draw Angel's attention in every now and then despite her complete lack of interest in the subject. Turned out she—Angel—was a fairly good drawer, and had a knack for picking out complimentary colours.

But Angel was battling with herself. Something deep inside her was telling her to pick apart Mrs Griffiths' mind; delve in, learn her secrets, pick and poke about the information stored in the young woman's brain. But she couldn't. She _wouldn't_. It was instinct versus conscience, and by god the battle was a vicious one.

_You have to. Just quickly…really quickly, go on. You need to. You'll be glad once you do._

_No. I can't, I won't._

She would have before—ten years before—but that was the old Angel. The Angel that had replaced Max's baby, the conniving and scheming Angel that wasn't _her_, not really. But this new Angel had to do something to keep the karma that was stacked up against her at had to make sure that it wouldn't topple over and crush her once the wrecking ball, whatever it may be, hit_._

_Because it was all her fault_.

The thought made Angel want to start sobbing uncontrollably.

"You OK, honey?" said a voice, surprising her. Angel's head snapped up and her back tensed, angry at herself for being caught off-guard. The tug of Mrs Griffiths' thoughts was almost palpable at such a close distance.

Mrs Griffiths went on sheepishly, "Sorry. Didn't mean to startle y—oh, wow, that's a lovely drawing. Do you think you'll do something like that for your major assignment this year?" She reached over and traced the thin gray lines on Angel's design paper softly, the flow of the dress sketched by light pencil strokes.

Angel tried to sniffle discreetly. "Um, maybe. I'm not sure yet," she mumbled.

Mrs Griffiths looked at her with worry and repeated, "Are you OK, honey? I looked over and you seemed about to cry. And I definitely didn't want that. I mean, of course I wouldn't want you to cry—I wouldn't want anyone to cry—but…" The dark-haired woman sighed. "Listen to me, huh? Believe it or not, I used to be pretty good at comforting people. But now I'm not. Guess that's just how the chips fall, I suppose. Oh, gosh, listen to me." She laughed quietly, shook her head, and said for the third time, "Are you OK?"

Angel smiled slightly. "I suppose so. I'll be alright in no time. Just…thinking about silly family stuff. Doesn't even matter."

"Oh," said Mrs Griffiths, "Well, I'm glad that it wasn't anything major. I mean, I'd hate it if you were to be upset. That'd just be…awful. And—oh, my, I haven't spoken so much in a long time! Don't ramble, Nu—I mean, wow, don't ramble, _Monique_. That was weird. I haven't been called _Nudge_ in so long! Wow." Angel had gone stock-still, her jaw tightening and her hands clenching, nails biting into flesh and teeth into tongue.

"_What_," Angel began coldly, her low voice barely discernible—to human ears, at least—amidst the voices of the chattering class around them. Her words were so sharp that she surprised herself almost as much as she surprised Mrs Griffiths. Angel said icily, "_What_ did you just say?"

_How dare she use Nudge's name. How dare she assume it to be a nickname of hers._

_How dare she._

But…what if…No. Could it?…No, it couldn't be…

Impossible. Nudge was dead. So was the rest of the flock. Dead. Gone. Their remains nothing but ten-year-old ash littered here and there, scattered across the premises of the crumbling skeleton of the School.

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Mrs Griffiths, taken aback at Angel's frosty tone. "It's just…something my family…friends…fl—oh, who cares what they were. It was what they used to call me. _Nudge_. Stupid, eh?"

Angel rocked back and forth, blinking as tears gathered at her bottom eyelids and threatened to spill. Everyone else in the class disappeared. All Angel could feel was her heart thudding in her ears, and Mrs Griffiths'—_Nudge's_?—doing the same beside her.

Angel finally opened her mind to the woman beside her's, allowing the thoughts to flood and mingle with her own.

_Looks just like little Angel would if she was alive now!…Blonde, blue eyes…Wow, just…too much, too much!…They're all dead…I can't…Maybe this actually _is _Angel though…Don't be ridiculous, Monique, they're dead—gone, blown to pieces…Max, Fang, Ange, Gaz…heck, even Total…gone…I can't—_

"Oh my God," said Angel, voice choked. "I need to go to the nurse, I'm about to throw up."

And, with more cowardice than Angel thought she possessed, she streaked out of the room, panic gripping her heart like a vice.

_She can't be alive. This isn't possible._

Because if Nudge was alive, then it was possible that the others were. And Angel knew that one of them—she didn't _which _one, though—knew her secret.

_No_.

* * *

**A/N: **Merry Christmas to everyone in my time-zone, and Merry Christmas Eve to everyone else! Or, if you don't celebrate Xmas, happy holidays!

Here's some Christmas joy for you all: there's a Max and Fang chapter coming to you next week sometime. You'll just have to be patient.

Love you all!


	10. MAX, FANG & REX

**10: MAX & NICK**

**8.31 a.m., Tuesday**

**September 14th, 2012**

Max finally entered the school's auditorium—late, of course. She'd neglected to get a map of the school before her homeroom class, and had no chance to grab one in between then and first period. She finally managed to make her way to where she was supposed to be, and what greeted her was fifty students milling around and chattering amongst themselves.

Wait—fifty? There was only twenty-five to a class. Frowning, Max clapped her hands and raised her voice. "Quiet, everyone!" Either no-one heard her or she was just being ignored. "Everyone, _shut the hell up_!" The students obliged, looking over at her, sizing her up.

Max refused to feel uncomfortable under the scrutiny of the crowd. She recognized some of them—they had been in the corridor, witnesses to her and Iggy's reunion. And, from her own brief experiences in high school, she knew that everyone else had probably heard about it over the grapevine, too. She was surprised at how no-one was gossiping amongst each other; in fact, the only people chattering was a group of five or so sophomore boys up the front, and Max hadn't yet noticed them.

"OK, so it seems this is a double class—sophomores, I'll be teaching you this year. Put your hand up if you're _not _a sophomore, please." Twenty-something hands went up. "Right, what grade are you? And what's your teacher's name?"

A short girl in glasses answered. "We're juniors, Miss. And our time-tables say that our teacher is…Mr N. Walker."

"Do you know where he is?" asked Max. The girl in glasses shrugged and shook her head. "Right, then, everyone—"

"And so I'm going to meet up with Sandra after school today. It's gonna be a _load _of fun, if you know what I mean." Max heard the voice loud and clear; it belonged to a tall boy—ah. It was the same guy who had made the snarky comment—'_looks like gym's gonna be easy this year_'—out in the hall when she had been hugging Iggy.

"Hey, you!" Max said loudly, looking directly at him. He glanced up worriedly, then saw that it was only the 'new chick who thinks she can teach'. He smirked and went to say something else, but was cut off. "Don't test me, kid. You shouldn't be speaking when I am." At Max's words, two of the five boys rolled their eyes, one yawned, the other checked his watch theatrically and the last snorted derisively.

"Fine," said Max, annoyed. "If you're going to have that attitude, I want _everyone_ to do five laps around the field." She gestured to the wide double doors leading outside grandly.

"_What_?" cried a girl, looking up from her phone. "That's not fair—hardly any of us did anything wrong!"

Max raised an eyebrow. "No phones in class. Give it here, I'll return it at the end of the lesson." The girl huffed and reluctantly handed her phone over. "Everyone, go on. You have five laps to do. And the next person to complain will be giving me a piggy-back ride on their first two. And instead of complaining to _me_, complain to the five clowns who think it's OK to talk when I am. I want the juniors to go for a run, too. _Go_." The students filtered out reluctantly, grumbling to one another and shooting Max disgruntled looks over their shoulders.

"Wouldn't that be illegal?" said a voice behind Max, just as the last person exited the hall. "Getting a student to piggy-back you, I mean. Child labor laws and all."

She turned to see a man in his early to mid-twenties leaning against the bleachers. Max blinked in surprise at the shock of dark hair atop his head, his smoothly tanned skin, his smirk, and his closed expression. So _similar_.

"Are you the junior class' teacher?" Max asked, keeping her tone even.

"Yeah. Nick Walker, nice to meet you." He held a hand out and, upon peering at Max's face, said, "Oh, hey, you must be…Max. We're sharing the apartment. Rex told me you saw him this morning—I really hope you don't mind—"

Nick Walker. _Nick Walker_. It was an unbelievably common name, but…match it with the dark hair, unsmiling non-expression, dark eyes and tan…it had to be a coincidence. Except Max didn't _really _believe in coincidences—especially after Iggy this morning.

"Er…Max?" said Nick Walker. "You OK?"

"F-Fine," Max muttered. "I am _so _sorry, you just look really familiar. I, uh, this'll probably sound weird—but does the name '_Fang_' mean anything to you?"

The man's back immediately went rigid and his stoic mask dripped away, leaving—not recognition, not happiness, just mistrustfulness, shock and…rage? After a quick, cursory glance around the gym to make sure that all of the students had set off on their run around the grounds, Nick grabbed Max's arm and twisted her into a headlock. Max, taken off-guard, had no time to defend herself.

"What the—"

"_Who are you_?" Nick demanded. No, _Fang _demanded. There was no doubt remaining as to who this was.

"I-It's me, Fang, it's _Max_," she whispered. "Ouch, please let go, you're hurting me—stop, Fang, please—"

"Don't you dare pretend like you're her because she's _dead_," Fang snarled. His arm tightened around Max's neck; her face was slightly reddening as she sputtered, clawing at his muscled arms. "How dare you. Who do you work for? The School is over, so it can't be…. _What do you want_?!"

Max really shouldn't have been surprised that Nick—_Fang_—didn't believe it was her. God, she barely believed it was _him_. She would have been over the moon were it not for the fact that Fang was on the verge of breaking her neck.

"_Ni-ick, are you in he-ere_?" called a voice, sing-songing stupidly.

Max struggled slightly, turning to see Rex waltz in through the gym doors. The boy stopped dead as soon as he took in the scene before of him.

"Holy crap," he swore. "_Nick_! Let her go!"

"No," Fang spat. "She's one of _them_. The School made her! Itex did! This isn't Max. _Max is dead_."

Rex sprinted across the gym, stopping only when he saw Fang's grip on Max's neck tighten. He held his arms up. "Nick, you'll regret this. Let her go."

"_No_," repeated Fang. "Max—is—_dead_!"

Max, whose face was slowly becoming purple, her eyes bulging, grunted. She choked out, "Fang, you _fool_."

"Shut _up_!" he snarled down at her.

"The _School_ is dead, not Max," Rex shouted, getting Fang's attention. "She survived, _Fang_." Fang grimaced as the younger boy said his name—his _real _name. "They all did."

"What the hell are you saying?"

"They're all alive. They're all _here_."

Fang's grip on Max's neck lessened somewhat, but he didn't release her. "Who's _they_? Where's _here_?"

Max spluttered, gulping in air, before adding hoarsely, "And how the heck do you know?"

"I think we need to talk…," said Rex uncomfortably.

* * *

**10.5: REX, MAX & FANG**

**8.41 a.m., Tuesday**

**September 14th, 2012**

Rex watched as, slowly, uncertainly, Fang let go of his chokehold on Max. Once she was released, her arms, which had been scrabbling at Fang's hands in a futile attempt to free herself, dropped limply to her sides. Her and Fang stared at each other, awe-struck…and awkward.

Rex took no note of a group of super-fit students, who had already completed their laps, jogging into the hall. They gulped the air in greedily, out of breath, and the girls started checking out the new gym teacher.

"I…sorry," said Fang lamely, guilt-ridden at having almost asphyxiated Max. And then he seemed to regain himself just enough to say with a cheeky smirk, "Who knew that _Maximum Ride _would be so easily defeated."

"Shut up, Fang," Max returned, before grinning so much that it looked painful. Rex looked on, bored, having seen this reunion already. Like magnets, the pair were drawn to each other; they hugged like there was no tomorrow, Max crying a bit. "You're supposed to be dead. I swear I'll kill you for making me go through losing you."

Fang grinned, holding her closer to him.

As the pair embraced, Rex's body went stock-still. The chattering of the students who had finished their laps had dimmed. Stunned silence was the only thing that was heard—that and Max's small sobs of relief.

"_Who knew _Maximum Ride _would be so easily defeated_."

"_Shut up, Fang_."

"No…," groaned Rex. If only he had foreseen _this_ complication. But who could have foreseen that it would be _Fang's _big mouth—ha!—that would get them into _this _particular pickle.

There was dead silence as Max and Fang broke apart slowly, shoulders tense—they must have just noticed the students' return. There was no stopping it now, though. Rex knew that Max would be pissed off after this went down, which would make for an unhappy Fang which would, in turn, make for an unhappy Rex, which would be a bit of a bummer.

"Did you just say _Maximum Ride_?!"

Rex winced. It had begun.

* * *

**A/N: **Probably not the reunion you guys were hoping for, but definitely far more realistic compared to what I had in the original version of this story.

Sorry this chapter took forever to be uploaded. Hope you guys had a good Christmas and New Year's!


	11. ANGEL & JORDAN

**11: Angel & Jordan**

**8.42 a.m., Tuesday**

**September 14th, 2012**

As soon as Angel had escaped room 12T, Nudge, and her past, she ran as hard and as fast as she could—which was pretty hard and fast—to A-Block. The Art rooms were currently under construction, and all Visual Art lessons were held in demountable buildings on the other end of the school. The workers were only there on weekends and afternoons after school, so as not to disrupt the lessons during the day. The place was abandoned.

Angel broke her promise to herself and mentally searched all around the school for Jordan's thoughts. Once she had located his mind, with its unique, Jordan-y essence, she put the thought into his head: _Angel said to meet her at 8.45 under the oak tree behind A-Block. Better leave now_.

Angel quickly retreated from his thoughts, glad that he was concentrating too much on his Math work to be thinking about anything important. She'd tell him about the intrusion later…for now though, she had other, far worse things to confess to.

Feeling exhausted, Angel made her way over to the oak tree and collapsed next to it. She just needed to rest…just for a little bit…Jordan would wake her when he got there…

* * *

_"Angel, sweetheart, come on down."_

_Angel, perched on the highest branch of a tall fig tree, looked below her in shock. _No way_, she thought._

_Jeb was standing there, amiable smile on his face, with his hands clasped idly behind his back. The man was practically twiddling his thumbs. Angel's defenses went up immediately—if she had hackles, they'd be stick-straight. Jeb wasn't supposed to be here—no-one but herself and the rest of the flock was to know of her location. If he knew that she was here, then what else did he know?_

_"What do you want?" she asked coldly, moving her gaze back from the ground to the blocky gray building standing out from above the trees. Max had told her not to take her eyes off it, and to warn her immediately if it looked like the whitecoats had figured out that the flock was there. Well, looked like she'd better warn Max now._

_"I want to talk to you, sweetie."_

_"Well _I _don't want to talk to _you_. I'm telling Max you're here," Angel said firmly, eyes planted on the School._

_"Don't," said Jeb sharply. "I need to tell you something, and Max can't know or you'll all get hurt."_

_"Was that a threat?"_

_"No, Angel, please. Listen to me, sweetheart, and listen hard. Iggy's bomb won't work…"_

* * *

"Angel? Angel, wake up," said a voice like warm honey. A strong, gentle hand shook her shoulder, rousing her.

"I'm up," muttered Angel drowsily, sitting upright and shaking some leaves out of her hair. Through bleary eyes, she peered up at Jordan with a smile. "Hi."

"Hi," he answered, smiling back and offering Angel a hand. She took it and allowed herself to be pulled up. Jordan placed a sweet kiss on her forehead before asking, "So, why'd you ask me to meet you here? You interrupted a very enjoyable Math lesson, you know."

Angel didn't reply for a bit, just reached up and hugged him tightly. When she finally did speak, it was to say, "I did a bad thing, J. And I'm going to tell you what I did. And I want you to still love me after I tell you." She avoided his searching eyes, heart stuttering at the thought of not being forgiven.

"Of course, Ange. Of course. Hey, look at me." He tilted her chin up so he could meet her eyes. "It's OK, I promise. Tell me."

"When I was six years old…"

* * *

_"What do you mean, it won't work?" Angel snapped._

_"Iggy will get the wires wrong. He thinks that the blue wire needs to touch the green wire, but it's the _orange _wire that has to touch the green wire. Remember that, Angel. _Orange to green_. Remember it. In five minutes, Iggy will ask you to come down and help him because the Gasman has to go do something else. He'll tell you to show him which is the blue wire and which is the green wire. You need to tell him that the orange wire is the blue one, OK? Make sure it's the orange and green wires that touch. _Orange to green_."_

_"How do you know?"_

_"I just do. You have to trust me, Angel."_

_"Why should I trust _you_? You left us, Jeb."_

_"I had to. You'll understand in time, Angel, but just know that I love you guys. I want to keep you safe. You need to do this, otherwise the flock _will _die."_

_Angel was torn. "I, I don't know…"_

_"Just this one thing, Angel. I promise it'll be OK." Jeb checked his wristwatch and said, "I have to go, but don't tell Max about this meeting. Remember, _orange to green_."_

_"O…OK."_

* * *

"Are you alright, Ange?"

Angel was jerked back into the present at the sound of Jordan's concerned, kind voice. The pair were sitting down, leaning against the wide oak tree's trunk, Angel curled up into Jordan as he smoothed her hair back. She hadn't realized that she was crying until a lone tear dripped from her cheek onto her knee, which was pulled up to her chest, grazing her chin.

"I'm sorry," she muttered.

"It's OK, beautiful. You don't have to tell me the rest if you don't want to," he assured her, even though he was itching with curiosity.

"No, no, I have to. I _need _to say it aloud, otherwise it's not real enough. I _have _to…"

* * *

_"Thanks for coming, Ange. Gazzy's been having some serious bowel movement and I need a sidekick that isn't constantly making me gag with his gaseous outbursts," Iggy said, ruffling Angel's hair as she reached him. "I know Max said to stay up in that tree and make sure no-one caught us, but we're running really low on time. Max, Fang and Nudge will be out of there pretty soon, and we need this to be ready by then." _

_Angel nodded solemnly._

_The two sat under a tall tree, behind some shrubs. Through the leaves of the bushes hiding them from view, Angel could make out a troupe of Erasers standing guard over the sixteen-foot-high chain-linked fence. They were spaced evenly along the fence-line, rifles strapped to their sides and saliva dripping from their wolfy snouts. _

_"So, what do you need me to do?" Angel asked, even though she knew the answer._

_Iggy motioned for her to come forward, gesturing down at the tangle of wires sitting in front of him. "Place the _blue _wire in my _right _hand and the _green _wire in my _left _hand."_

_"OK, Iggy," said Angel, reaching for the cables. "Sure thing."_

* * *

Angel stopped talking for a bit, staring listlessly up into the sky. Jordan couldn't help but break the silence by asking, "Did you do it? Did you give him the wrong wires?"

Angel started crying in earnest. She nodded. "After I put the green wire in his right hand, he told me to send a message out to the flock—or Fang, Max and Nudge, rather—to say that they had fifteen minutes to get out of there before the place blew sky-high. I didn't do that, either. I don't know why."

"So what did changing the wires do?"

"Instead of giving them fifteen minutes to get out, it gave them five."

* * *

_"I'll be back soon, Angel. Wait here for seven minutes—Nudge and I should have returned by then. If we haven't, then fly as far as you can to the east. We'll meet you back at the cabin."_

_"Be careful," Angel answered, hugging him tightly. "I'll see you soon."_

_"Of course."_

_Iggy picked up the bomb carefully and then took a running start, diving into the air. Angel watched as he flew as hard and as fast as he could, literally dodging bullets once the Erasers caught sight of him._

_It was only thirty seconds before Gazzy re-entered the clearing, zipping up his fly and walking bow-legged._

_"Whew, that was a big one—Oh! Hey, Angel. Where's Ig?"_

_"He left to drop the bomb."_

_"Ah, in that case we'd better get out of here."_

_"Ig said to wait for ten minutes, then he and Nudge would meet us here. And if he wasn't here in ten minutes, we should fly to the cabin."_

_"We'll meet them at the cabin, then. I don't like being too near the blow-zone when a bomb goes off," Gazzy said, sounding way too mature for his age—way too mature compared to what he was usually like. "C'mon, Ange, let's go."_

_Angel nodded._

_The two flew up, staying down close to the tree-line for a while so they wouldn't be easily noticed by the armed Erasers. _

_After they had been flying for about four minutes, everything went wrong._

_A noise so loud that it vibrated deep within the pit of Angel's stomach echoed through the valley. The noise was followed by a wave of heat so intense that Angel was unable to breathe. She looked back at the huge mushroom cloud that enveloped the School, flames already reaching for the sky. Gazzy shouted something, grabbed her and pulled her forward, zooming towards the ground and away from the explosion._

_Angel could barely grasp what had just gone down—there was supposed to be another ten minutes before the bomb was supposed to blow up!_

_As the wave of heat increased in intensity and dark smoke filtered into her lungs, Angel's vision began fading to black._

_Just before she passed out completely, an unidentifiable voice said in her head, "I know what you did, Angel. I know it was your fault."_

* * *

Angel wiped her eyes angrily. She was sick of crying. "It _was_ my fault, Jordan. I trusted Jeb. I had a chance to warn the others and I didn't take it. There were so many opportunities to right my wrong. And…now…" She shuddered and Jordan drew her in closer.

"I appreciate you telling me this, Angel, I really do. But…why now?"

"Because Nudge is alive, J," whispered Angel. "She's _alive_, and she's teaching Design in this school. Right now. And the name she's going by is _Mrs_ Griffiths…so that means Iggy's alive, too."

"Oh my gosh, Angel," Jordan said.

"I know. I _know_."

"Where is she? Why aren't you with her now?"

Angel shifted uncomfortably. "Because when I found out who she was, I, ah, I ran."

"Oh, no. Is this because of that last thought that went through your mind before you passed out, '_I know what you did. I know it was your fault_'? You think it might have been Nudge?"

"I honestly don't know. I don't know if I recognized the voice—thought, rather. I had myself convinced for _years _that it had been my imagination, or _the _Voice—the Voice with a capital 'V'—playing some sick mind-game with me, because the only people who could've known what happened were supposed to be dead. It could've been Jeb, but somehow I doubt it. And now, everyone I thought was dead _isn't_. And that scares me so much. I mean, I'm so glad they're OK, I really am. I just…I had come to terms with their deaths, you know? I was beginning to be OK with it."

"Would you rather them be dead?"

"No, no, no! Of course not. Never. I'd rather…well, I'd rather not have listened to Jeb." Angel sighed. "I honestly don't think I've grasped what any of this means. Our flock is just missing Max and Fang and Total, and…well…I don't know. It's so much more than I could have ever hoped for."

"Everything will turn out alright," Jordan assured her. "And if it doesn't, I'll be here."

"I love you, J, so much."

Jordan pressed a kiss against her hair. "I know." It's what he said whenever Angel said the 'L' word. "And you know that I'll say that back after you show me your wings."

"It'll happen someday, I promise."

"Soon?"

"Soon."

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry for the short hiatus. Just a reminder, though: I don't write for you. I post stories on this website for you, yes, but I write for _me_. Keep that in mind before sending reviews saying "this is a great story but seriously hurry up and update I'm getting impatient", or something along those lines.

I am insanely glad that you do think this story is great (I'm not a complete brat). Thanks so much for your support and patience. Love you guys. xx


	12. JAMES & GAZZY

**12: JAMES & GAZZY**

**8.57 a.m., Tuesday**

**September 14th, 2012**

"You guys had better stand back!" Mr Griffiths—James—warned, his voice loud with excitement. His hair was sticking up, straight as a wooden ruler, and his eyes were wild. He had on a thick pair of thick round glasses and a lab-coat; he looked exactly like you'd expect a mad scientist to look, except perhaps a bit handsomer.

"After you pour fifty milligrams of _this _liquid in, you add the—whatever the long-lettered chemical is, I can't pronounce the name," he addressed the class, before repeating, "Alright, you should all _really _stand back. We've got about five seconds before this baby blows sky-high!" He grinned like a lunatic.

James Griffiths had taken his first-period Chemistry class, a pack of rowdy seniors, out to the middle of the running track. He'd gotten two burly football players to drag a table along with them, and on that table sat an innocent looking beaker filled with clear, slightly yellow-tinged liquid. "Five," he counted, backing away and ushering a few people still too close back with him: "Four, three…two…_one_…blast off!"

Students screamed as glass shattered and liquid flew up into the air. Iggy heard complaints as it splattered onto a few students' skin and clothes, but he wasn't too concerned. It was a harmless chemical; the only damage it would do was to a few girls' flat-ironed hairdos.

After the din died down, people started laughing appreciatively, commenting stuff like, "Dude, that was _awesome_."

"Sure was," James agreed with an easy grin. "Now, I want everyone to look around for pieces of glass. Person who finds the most shards gets a Hershey's bar. Hurry up now. I'd help, but, y'know, lack of eyesight and all."

The students obediently began combing the grass. Some looked more vigorously than others, the promise of chocolate spurring them on.

James made his way carefully to the table, plopping himself atop it and keeping an ear out to make sure none of the students were trying to ditch, or slacking off. As he waited for the clean-up to be finished, feeling utterly useless but knowing he couldn't do anything to change it, a girl shrieked.

"Oh my effin' _God_!" she cried.

James leapt off the table in an instance, rushing over to the sound of her cry. He recognized her voice; her name was…Jemma? Something like that.

Just as he reached the girl, her boyfriend, one of the football players that had helped carry the table over, said, "Jemima, babe, what's wrong? You OK?"

"N-Nothing," said the girl, her voice faint. "Nothing's _wrong. _It's just that…oh my gosh, _nothing _is wrong. I'm _way _better than 'OK'—Rhyan, remember, like, ten years ago? When we were little and I was obsessed with those birdkids? Maximum Ride and her flock? I was, what, eight?"

James' too-fast heartbeat skidded to a halt.

"Yeah…," said the boyfriend, Rhyan, confusedly. Students gathered around, some still idly picking up glass, but most just listening. The topic of the fallen birdkids had always been a big one; the legend of it hadn't faded with time.

"Th-they're _here_," Jemima said dumbly. "They're in the _gym_, right now, Max and Fang—Rhy, they're _here_."

"No, they're not," Rhyan answered soothingly. "Jem, they're dead." James winced. He had to remind himself that Max wasn't, that he knew she was alive, but…Fang, Gazzy, Angels. His brothers and sister. _Dead_.

"I thought so too—but they're actually—look, _look _at this. Ebony sent me a picture—you know, the sophomore that lives down my street? Yeah, she _sent me a picture of Max and Fang_. Here, see? It's _them_. This can't be a coincidence."

"Let me see that picture," said a new voice harshly. James recognized it from the day earlier; the boy who had known he was blind. Zephyr.

"Woah, dude, back off," Rhyan said calmly.

"Shut up," Zephyr snapped back, and there was a quick scuffle. Jemima yelped and Rhyan swore.

"Hey!" James cut in loudly. "Kid—Zephyr?—easy there."

There was silence, and then another curse, this time from Zephyr. He said, "It's them—oh my God," and then started running. As he darted off, James could hear him shouting, "Angel, they're _here_," presumably into a cellphone.

There was no mistaking who that was.

"G…Gazzy?" Iggy whispered. Then, louder, "_Fang_. Angel!"

And then he, too, was off.

* * *

**A/N: **This (very short) chapter is dedicated to Kenzi. Sorry I didn't update in time for your road-trip, but I updated nonetheless.


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